Goodbye
by Kohaku no Hime
Summary: He thought a car had backfired. No pairings, season 8-9 spoilers inside.


_Er…*opens mouth but then closes it again*_

_I…well…_argh_. I can't tell you where this came from. I really can't. All I can tell you is that my CSI bunnies are quite charmed by the Season 8 finale/Season 9 opener of the original CSI; don't be surprised if another one revolving around these particular episodes shows up. It's short, but...ah well. It's something._

_Spoiler alerts abound, so if you have not seen either of these episodes and don't like spoilers then don't read; mild language is involved as well. No pairings, canon-verse, and leave reviews on the way out!_

* * *

Pain.

It feels just like it does when he swallows something too big, and when he hears the explosive crack next to his ear it's funny, because it sounds an awful lot like a car backfiring. In his neighborhood his neighbor always had such trouble with his car; it was the bane of his existence when he was growing up, since the neighbor often came back at random hours of the night and the car would backfire, startling him out of a sound sleep.

He can't understand what happened now, and why his neck feels so funny and tight. Everything is sharp and clear, but murky and dizzying at the same time; smells and sounds come and go, and colors change in varying levels of sharpness, dull at one second but bright the next. He had been talking to the Undersheriff, and then the other man had reached into his pocket and the car backfired.

No…wait…something…something not right…something warm…something wet…what…?

He thought a car had backfired. Why did it hurt? Why could he taste copper pennies in the back of his throat?

A hand goes to his neck and feels the stickiness of the blood, and then somewhere in his mind he realizes that something is wrong. Dimly, as if he's suddenly been transported to some window of his past, he hears Brass talking about how his gunshot wound hadn't hurt at first and how it felt like an alien pressure until he realized what happened.

He smells the cordite then and realizes what's happened. He's been shot—judging by the pressure the bullet's gone through his neck. What he doesn't understand is why and who, until he turns his head and meets the cold gaze of the Undersheriff and suddenly everything makes sense. Now he knows who the mole is, now he knows why the Undersheriff was pressuring him to confess to killing Gedda when he had never touched the man…

The car backfires again and this time he feels the red hot sting of the bullet slam into his body, but he can't make a sound because the bullet's gone through his neck and he can't talk. No no no no…no he can't…he can't die yet…he won't go! He isn't ready! He was just eating dinner five minutes ago, this is just a nightmare!

His vision's fading and his hearing is going too, and he's so scared right now…so scared and hurting…no no no…_no Brown, hold on, just hold on help will come, don't give up, hold it together you'll be okay…_

Time has either sped up or slowed down, but it's immeasurable at the moment; he can't remember when he got shot. Now someone's yanking him out of the car and he wants to fight because the Undersheriff's probably the one responsible, but he can't move and he's glad he didn't punch anyone because he recognizes that oddly blurred face…_Grissom…_

His supervisor is scared, staring at him with wide and frightened eyes as he gets to work on trying to stop the bleeding; it scares him to see his boss so afraid, because that look has never appeared once on Grissom's face in all his memory, not even when Sarah was taken, when Nick was trapped underground, or when Brass had been shot. It must be because he's been shot and he's dying right there in front of Grissom…there isn't any time to save him, is there? Out of fear and desperation he reaches up and grabs Grissom's arm; it acts as an anchor that holds him here to the earth and he grasps onto it desperately.

He can barely focus on what Grissom is saying, let alone understand his words, but then the Undersheriff walks into view and a completely different sort of fear grips him now. Death is looking inevitable at this point and he knows it, but he isn't about to give up and he won't let the Undersheriff take Grissom too. _Warn Grissom…can't let it happen to him too, warn Grissom!_

He makes an effort to speak and an odd rasping, choking sound fills his ears; it's a bubbled groan, a liquid filled cry, and he realizes that it's what's left of his own voice. He can't talk…he can't warn Grissom…no no no, this can't be happening! Grissom, he's _right there!_ You can't trust him, he's reaching for the gun right at this moment! Grissom, for the love of God, _turn around!_

He realizes something just in time and stops trying to talk, because if he keeps trying to speak Grissom will end up dead too; the Undersheriff's hand moves away from the gun as he chokes on his own blood. He's expendable—Grissom is not. Instead he turns his rapidly deteriorating vision to Grissom and stares up at him, trying so desperately to stay with him and to fight…he doesn't want to go. Not like this.

And then without warning, a sudden weariness grips him and the adrenaline rush dies. He knows what's coming now—he knew it the moment the gun went off. He's not getting out of this one…no miraculous save, no heroic rescue, no second chance…this is it.

He looks at Grissom, and the older man seems to have understood the silent message in his eyes because his hearing comes back long enough to register Grissom's desperate plea. "No! Stay with me! Don't give up!"

He can't fight it anymore. He knows it now. The fight's leaving him even as he's looking at Grissom…the world is going deathly silent and everything has a gray cast to it…

He manages a glance at the Undersheriff and the man standing over him pales slightly at the amount of venom in that one look. _Don't you get comfortable up there. Grissom's going to get you for this…count on it, you bastard._

His death will not go unavenged. He knows Grissom will not let this go until the culprit is caught; he won't live to see it, but he knows that Grissom and the team will hunt the Undersheriff down and the man who shot him will pay for this.

_Looks like this is it. Grissom…Catherine…Greg…Nick…Sarah, wherever you are…Brass…hell, even you, Ecklie…goodbye._

He looks back at Grissom now and he wishes he had his voice back because there's so much he wants to say (_thank you Grissom for everything you've ever done, you'll get the guy, I know it_,_ I'm sorry I can't fight anymore)_ but instead he contents himself with looking at Grissom's eyes even as his own begin to completely darken. It isn't exactly how he wanted to go, but at least Grissom's here. He isn't dying alone—and, truth be told, he's glad that his supervisor's here. Grissom's been there for him every time he's needed the older man…it's fitting that he's here now.

He takes comfort in that knowledge as the darkness overwhelms him at last and then everything goes completely silent and—

And then Warrick Brown is gone.


End file.
